AllFreeNovel
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“Hey, there,” she says in that husky smoker’s voice of hers, “what time are you getting over here on Friday?”
“Over here?” I ask.
“To Bainbridge Island. Johnny and the twins are home, so of course we’re having Christmas here. We can’t have the girlfriend hour without you. ”
And there it is. The thing I have been waiting for without even knowing it.
* * *
It is a new beginning, that Christmas on Bainbridge Island; at least it seems like one. We are all together again for the first time in so long—Bud and Margie have come up from Arizona, Johnny and the twins have moved back into the home in which they belong. Even Marah comes home for a week. We all pretend not to notice how thin and sullen she is.
When we separate, we promise to stay in closer touch, to get together more often. Johnny hugs me tightly, and in the embrace I remember who we used to be to each other. Friends.
For the next few months, I am almost my old self, at least a paler, quieter version of her. I write almost every day; I make progress, not quickly, perhaps, but some progress is better than none and it helps anchor me, gives me a future. I call Marah every Monday night; it’s true that she often doesn’t pick up my call, and when she does deign to talk to me she exerts a strong rule: if I nag at her at all, she hangs up. And yet I find a way to be okay with that. It is something. We are talking. I believe that our fake, useless conversations will grow real over time. She will find her place at the UW, make friends, and mature. Soon I’m sure she will see Paxton for who he really is. But when her freshman year nears its end and he is still by her side, I begin to worry a little bit more.
In May of that year—2009—Lucas calls and invites me to the last baseball game of the season. I meet Johnny at the ballpark and sit with him in the stands. At first it is awkward being side by side; we are both uncertain of how to treat each other, but by the end of the third inning, we have found a way. As long as we don’t mention Kate, we can laugh together again. For the rest of the summer and into that autumn, I visit often.
By the winter of 2009, I feel almost like my old self. I have even come up with a plan to bring Marah home from school early to decorate for the holidays.
“Are you ready?” Johnny says when I open the door to my condo. I can see that he is impatient, excited. We are all worried about Marah, and the idea of bringing her home from school early is a good one.
“I was born ready. You know that. ” I wrap the cashmere scarf around my throat and follow him down to his car.
On this cold, black, mid-December evening, heavy gray clouds collect above the buildings. Before we even reach the freeway, a few snowflakes begin to fall, so small that by the time they hit the windshield, all that is left is a starburst of water, plopping here and there, wiped away quickly, but still it lends a festive air. We talk about Marah on the way, her falling grades, and our hope that she will do better in this sophomore year than she did in her freshman.
The University of Washington’s sprawling, gothic campus seems smaller in this weather; elegant buttressed buildings shimmer ghostlike beneath the stone gray sky. The snow is beginning to stick; a white sheen dusts the grassy lawns and concrete benches. Students move briskly between buildings, their hoods and backpacks slowly turning white. There is a hushed feeling here, a loneliness that is rarely felt on this giant campus. It is the last few days of Finals Week. On Monday, the school will close until January. Most of the students are already gone. In golden windows, professors rush to grade the last of their tests before the holiday begins.
McMahon Hall is particularly quiet. At Marah’s room, we pause and look at each other. “Should we yell surprise?” I ask.
“I think it’ll be obvious when she opens the door. ”
Johnny knocks on the door.
We hear footsteps and the door opens. Paxton is standing there, wearing boxer shorts and combat boots, holding a bong. He is paler than usual and the look in his eyes is glassy and blank. “Whoa…” he says.
Johnny pushes Paxton so hard the kid stumbles and falls. The place reeks of marijuana and something else. On the nightstand is a small crinkled piece of blackened foil with a dirty pipe beside it. What the hell?
Johnny kicks aside pizza boxes and empty Coke cans.
Marah is in bed, wearing only a bra and panties. At our entrance, she scrambles back, pulling the blanket up to her chest. “Wha’ the hell are you doin’ here?” she says. Her words come out mangled; her gaze is glassy. She is obviously high. Paxton moves toward her.
Johnny grabs Paxton as if he is a Frisbee and throws him sideways, then pins him to the wall. “You raped her,” Johnny says. The tone in his voice is terrifying .
Marah climbs out of bed, falls to the floor. “Dad, don’t…”
“Ask her if I raped your daughter,” Paxton says, nodding at me.
When Johnny turns and looks at me, I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
“What?” Johnny yells at me. “What do you know about this?”
“She knew we were sleeping together,” Paxton says with a small smile. He is tearing us apart; he knows it and enjoys it.
“Pax … doan…” Marah says, stumbling forward.
Johnny’s gaze turns cold as ice. “What?”
I grab his arm and pull him to me. “Please, Johnny. Listen to me,” I whisper. “She thinks she loves him. ”
